Alien Harvest (aliens)

by Robert Sheckley

“I'm getting some strange signals,” he told Stan.

  “Where are they coming from?”

  “That's what's strange. I can't get a fix. They keep on shifting.”

  “Can you derive any information as to their production?” Stan asked.

  “Beg pardon, sir?”

  “Is someone making these signals, or are they natural phenomena?”

  “At this stage I can't tell,” Hoban said. “We have no definite data on any other ships in the area.”

  “There's a lot of solar debris around, though,” Stan said. “No telling yet what it might be.”

  Gill punched up another set of numbers. “The weather down there on the surface is even worse than you expected, Dr. Myakovsky.”

  Julie came into the control room. She had already changed into a plasteel landing outfit The cobalt-blue plastic form-fitting clothing with its orange flashes looked stunning on her. Stan's heart was in his mouth as he watched her.

  “Are we ready to go down?” Julie asked.

  Captain Hoban said, “I wouldn't recommend it, Miss Lish. The surface phenomena are worse than we were led to believe. Perhaps if we give the weather time to settle down a little …”

  Julie shook her head impatiently. “There's no time for that. If our worst peril is from the weather, Captain, we're doing very well indeed!”

  “I suppose that's true,” Hoban said. He turned to Gill. “Are you ready to accompany the party, Gill?”

  “I am, of course, ready,” the synthetic man said. “I have taken the liberty of asking for volunteers for this. There are five of them, and they are waiting for your orders.”

  He stood up from the control panel. He was tall, and even with his mismatched features, he was good-looking. If he had been a true man, you would have said there was something haunted about his expression. Since he was only a synthetic, you had to figure there'd been something amiss with his facial mold.

  “Captain Hoban,” said Stan, “can you show us our target in more detail?”

  Hoban nodded and fine-tuned the controls. AR-32's surface sprang up into high magnification. Fractal-mapped shapes blew up in size and complexity. Hoban adjusted the magnification again. A tiny dot on the landscape grew quickly, until, at extreme magnification, it turned into a low dark earthen dome that rose up from the flat plain, showing up well against the rugged landscape.

  “That's the hive,” Hoban said. “Not easy to miss it. It's the biggest thing in this part of the planet.”

  “Looks pretty quiet,” Stan mused.

  “We're still a long way from the surface,” Gill reminded him. Things could change by the time we get there.”

  “True enough,” Stan said. “But what the hell, this is what we've come for. Julie? Are you ready?”

  “Ready, Stan,” Julie said. “It's going to be a walk in the park.”

  Stan wished he shared her confidence.

  “Why are you going to the surface?” Hoban asked. “I thought we were coming to look for an orbiting wreck.”

  “All in good time,” Stan said. “Right now we've got the hive below us and no sign of life around it. If we can get a load of royal jelly from there, we can take care of the freighter later.”

  “Right on,” Julie said. “Let's go for all the marbles.”

  Stan felt encouraged by the beautiful thief's cheerfulness and determination. Maybe this thing was going to go all right, after all.

  29

  The number-one lander was in its own bay, stacked parallel to the backup lander, just behind the big hold where Julie had made her last training run with Norbert. Now Norbert walked behind Stan and Julie, holding Mac the dog in his arms. There was something doglike about the robot's posture; in a sense he was a mechanical watchdog, ferocious when challenged, utterly loyal to his master, Stan. Behind Norbert, and keeping their distance, were the five volunteers for the landing party. They had been promised a sufficient bonus for this undertaking, enough for avarice to overcome common sense. But, of course, if they'd had common sense, they wouldn't have been in space on the Dolomite in the first place.

  Captain Hoban, who was already at the number-one lander waiting for them, initiated the hatch-opening procedure. The lander, nestled in its bay, was almost a hundred feet long. It contained a miniature laboratory and was fully equipped with the telemetry needed for the mission.

  Norbert was proceeding to the hatch when Mac the dog came streaking out of the corridor, the rubber hall in his jaws. He raced into the lander just ahead of Norbert.

  “We'd better get that dog out of there,” Hoban said.

  “Let him stay,” said Stan. “He may be of some use accompanying Norbert once we're on the surface.”

  “Just as you wish, sir,” Hoban said. “I wish I were going with you.”

  “I wish you were, too,” said Stan. “But we need you here on the Dolomite. If anything goes wrong, we're absolutely dependent on you for backup.”

  “Don't worry, Stan, nothing's going to go wrong,” Julie said. Her smile was brilliant. “Don't you agree, Gill?”

  “Optimism has not been factored into me,” Gill said. “I am constructed to understand situations, not to have feelings about them.”

  “You're missing the best part,” Julie said. “Having feelings about stuff is what it's all about”

  “I've often wondered about that,” Gill said.

  “Maybe someday you'll find out. Are we ready?”

  “After you,” Stan said.

  She made a mocking little salute and stepped into the lander. The others followed. Captain Hoban waited until he heard Stan report on the voice channel that the lander was well sealed and all systems were on-line. Then he returned to the control room and initiated the takeoff procedure.

  The lander fell away from the Dolomite's hull and dropped toward the swirling surface of AR-32. Stan adjusted his restraining harness and called out, “Everybody secure?”

  The five volunteers from the crew were strapped down in the forward cabin. They were carrying weapons that had been issued to them by Gill: pulse rifles and vibrators. All had been given suppressors. These state-of-the-art electronic machines, about a meter long and weighing less than a pound, were clipped to their belts. The suppressors emitted a complex waveform that confused an alien's vision, rendering the wearer invisible.

  Julie and Gill were lying on deceleration couches in the main cabin behind Stan. Norbert was crouched all the way in the rear, holding a stanchion in one clawed hand and cuddling Mac with the other. There was no seat aboard the lander large enough to hold the big robot alien. But his strength was such that it was likelier the stanchion would move than his grip be torn loose.

  Then Captain Hoban's face appeared on the screen. “Dr. Myakovsky, are you ready for release?”

  “Ready, Captain,” Stan said. “Open up and turn us loose.”

  There was a powerful humming noise from the Dolomite's interior motors, a noise that could be felt inside the lander as vibration. The Dolomite's bay doors slid open revealing the star-studded sky as seen from AR-32's upper atmosphere. There was a click as the doors locked in the open position. Then a bright green telltale on Stan's control board came to life.

  “You've got control, Stan.”

  Stan felt his stomach turn over as the lander pulled away from the Dolomite. G-forces twisted at his gut. Sudden sharp flashes of pain went through his chest. A haze of pinkish red enclosed his vision, with blackness beginning to form on the edges.

  “Stan!” Julie called out. “We're coming down pretty fast.”

  Gill said, “Hull ionization is beginning to be a factor.”

  Stan got himself under control. His fingers danced on the controls. “Okay, I've got it. Gill, give me a landing vector.”

  They were deep into AR-32's atmosphere. Long, thin, ragged yellow clouds, twisting and turning into fantastic shapes, whipped past the Perspex viewing window. There was a rattle of hailstones striking the hull as they passed through a temperature inversion layer in
the atmosphere.

  The image of Captain Hoban jumped in and out of focus on the screen. But his voice was steady as he said, “Dr. Myakovsky, this planet has a heavy radiation belt. Better kick on through it at best speed.”

  “What do you think I'm doing?” Stan gritted. “Sight-seeing?”

  “Are you all right, Doctor?” Hoban asked. “You don't look so good.”

  “I feel great,” Stan said through gritted teeth. Black dots were swimming behind his eyes as he fought to hang on to consciousness. His chest burned with a familiar agony. He could feel the straps of the restraining harness tug at his shoulders as he cut down power and started to bring up the ship's nose. The atmosphere lightened and darkened as they went through more cloud layers. On the computer screen, the flight path for their landing came in glowing amber.

  Gill said, “We're on the final approach now. Good going, Stan.”

  Stan forced himself to concentrate, though he was none too sure he could remain conscious. The g-forces eased as he pulled the lander into position for its landing run.

  There was more visibility near the ground. In the tawny yellow light Stan could see house-sized boulders strewn across a tilted plain. They were fast approaching an old riverbed, wide and level, and that seemed a good place to make the final landing.

  Stan adjusted the trim tabs and began the landing procedure. The lander put her nose up and steadied. Wind gusts shook the ship just as it touched down. There was a crunch as they smacked the ground, then a bad moment as the lander soared into the air again. Then it came down again, hard, and this time it stayed down.

  When the lander had come completely to a stop, Julie looked around and said, “Welcome to AR-32, everyone. It may not look like much, but this planet is going to make us rich.”

  “Or dead,” Stan muttered, but to himself.

  30

  Back on the Dolomite, Captain Hoban watched the lander spin away on the viewscreen. He felt hollow, useless. There was nothing for him to do at the moment. Gloomy thoughts began to invade his mind.

  Captain Hoban had continued to think about suicide. This didn't surprise him. He only found it strange that he hadn't thought of it before, during all the bad days of the trial.

  He shook his head. Back then, something had buoyed his spirits, some belief that he was going to come out of this all right. And then his opportunity had seemed to arrive when Stan visited him in Jersey City and made his offer, and here he was in space again. But he had a bad feeling about it. His thoughts were full of foreboding images, and the men torn apart by Norbert hadn't helped his mood any. He suspected there would be a lot more deaths ahead, maybe even his own. Maybe he wouldn't have to commit suicide after all.

  On the other hand, he could do it now. Gill could handle the ship all right. Stan and Julie didn't really need him….

  Somewhere in his mind, Hoban knew this was a crazy line of thinking. He was a valuable person with reasons for living. He had nothing to be ashamed of. And yet the shame was there, constantly bubbling up from the depths of his mind, a seemingly automatic process that he couldn't shut off.

  It obsessed him that he had been dismissed from his own ship. He still burned with shame when he remembered how the authorities had revoked his license. It was all so terrible, and so unfair. Probably there was no hope of real reinstatement. He had let Stan talk him into joining this crazy venture without thinking it through. When he got back to Earth — if he got back — the authorities would be merciless with him. Maybe he'd gone far enough.

  He was preoccupied with his thoughts, and so was not pleased when he heard a crisp knock at the door of his stateroom. Now that the lander was away, he'd been hoping for a few minutes alone so he could get caught up on writing the ship's log.

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Crewman Badger, sir.”

  Hoban sighed. He still didn't know why he hadn't rejected Badger at the prison, when he had the chance. He had finally remembered where he'd seen him. Badger had been one of the crew of the Dolomite when he'd had his accident in the asteroids, one of the men who had witnessed his disgrace.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  He didn't like Badger, thought he was sly and untrustworthy. But he had to admit, the man hadn't given him any trouble before. He did know Badger's type. Hoban had looked over the comment sheets on the crew, sheets compiled by other captains on other flights. The word on Badger was that he was cunning, insubordinate, and a troublemaker. There was no specific charge against him on the evaluation sheets, but the implication was clear enough. “Come in, Crewman Badger. What do you want?”

  “I have the latest report on the debris in this area of space, sir.”

  “Why didn't you just put it on the computer, as usual?”

  “I thought you'd want to see this one before it was opened for general access, sir.”

  “Why? Is there something unusual about it?”

  “I'd say so, sir. Our new radar overlays show there's more than just space junk out there in orbit, Captain. I'm pretty sure there's a wreck in orbit near us.”

  “A wreck? Are you sure?”

  “Can't be absolutely sure at this range, sir,” Badger said. “But the pictures show smooth metal surfaces that must have been machined. It looks to me like a Q-class freighter, sir. Or the remains of one.”

  Hoban took the radar printouts from Badger's hand and carried them over to his desk. He studied them under infrared light, then, using a grease pencil, outlined an area.

  “You mean this bit right here?”

  “That's it, sir.”

  Hoban studied the readouts more closely. He had to admit that Badger had a good eye for this sort of thing. It appeared to be a ship's remains, floating out there in an orbit around AR-32, along with a lot of other stuff, mostly stellar debris.

  This, he decided, might be the wreck that Stan Myakovsky had been looking for. Hoban decided to find out and have the information for Stan when he returned.

  “We're going to have to check it out,” he said. “Badger, I want you to take one man, suit up, and go to the wreck's location. See if you can find its flight indicator.”

  “Yes, sir!” said Badger.

  “And don't go talking about this with the rest of the crew. That wreck has probably been there a very long time. No need for them to get excited too soon.”

  “Right, sir. No reason to alarm the crew over something like this.”

  Hoban nodded, but he didn't like agreeing with Badger. It seemed more natural that he should be on the opposite side of anything Badger felt. But he decided that perhaps he was being unfair. All that anyone had against Badger were rumors, and the man's unfortunate personality. No charge against him had ever stuck. And his decision to bring the wreck immediately to Hoban's attention had been quite correct.

  Badger went back to the crew quarters. His sidekick Glint was drinking a cup of coffee at one of the wardroom tables. He looked up quizzically when Badger came in.

  “Come on,” Badger told him. “We got a job to do.”

  Glint swallowed the rest of his coffee and stood up. “What sort of a job?”

  “There's a wreck out there. It's going to take spacesuits.”

  “Yeah? What's up, Red?”

  “I'll tell you about it as we go,” Badger said.

  31

  Stan had brought down the lander within viewing distance of the humped-up mound that was the alien hive, which he was able to inspect closely through the viewscreen magnifier. Gill and Julie stood behind him as he manipulated the views.

  The hive was not only the largest non-natural feature on this planet; it was also larger than any natural feature Stan had yet seen there. Even the mountains were no more than a few hundred meters in height. The hive, standing over a thousand meters above the windswept plain, was huge, imposing, with a dark majesty. The winds scoured it, grinding it down, and there was constant activity from the aliens, who stood out as little black dots at this distance, building the hive up again like a
nts repairing an anthill.

  Aliens, so soon! But, he reminded himself, he had been expecting them … hadn't he?

  “I hope you're taking note, Ari,” Stan said, holding the cybernetic ant on his fingertip so it could get a good view.

  “I don't know if Ari is,” Julie said, “but I sure am. I didn't know the hive would be so big. And I didn't know we'd run into aliens so soon.”

  “We've got the suppressors,” Stan reminded her.

  “Sure,” Julie said. “But are they reliable? It's pretty new technology.” She sighed and looked out across the plain again. “That's one big hive.”

  “This one could probably be classified a superhive,” said Gill. “It's far bigger than any other recorded in the literature on the aliens.”

  “Why do you suppose?” Stan asked.

  “This is only a conjecture, of course, but it seems to me the odds against survival on this planet are so great that the aliens had to concentrate their forces, keep one big hive going father than a lot of smaller ones.”

  “Saves us from having to make a lot of choices about which hive we plunder,” Julie said. “Let's get to it, shall we?”

  Gill shook his head. “I advise you to wait until the storm activity on the surface has abated somewhat.”

  Outside, through the Plexiglas, they could see the raging gale that was the usual weather on this planet. The wind had whipped itself into new heights of frenzy. Sand and small stones were blown across the plain like exploding shrapnel. Larger rocks, swept from the low crags in the distance, tumbled across the plain like steamrollers gone berserk. Lightning forked and crashed in vivid streamers of electric blue.

  Beneath the lander, the ground shook and heaved in a nausea-inducing motion. Stan thought: “Volcanic activity, just what we need.” But he wasn't really worried. He had taken an ampoule of Xeno-Zip before leaving the Dolomite. He felt strong and confident, and the pain was gone.

  There was a burst of high-pitched static from the speaker, and then Captain Hoban's voice came on.